Chronicles of a Healer
by George Rigel
Summary: The epic tale of a blood elf in his quest to find a new home in a strange world. Through his quests he meets friends and makes enemies, slays monsters and finds love.  His journeys change and shape him in ways he could never have imagined.
1. Arrival in a New World

**1: Arrival in a New World**

The hot sun blazed over the parched landscape. It was not uncommon in Durotar for there to be sunshine, but today was particularly hot for what the blood elf thought was supposed to be winter. He had just made a long trip from his native homeland, a place he had called Utherrealm. That place was not as different from this one as he would have imagined. It had similar flora and fauna, and indeed a similar look to the landscape. In fact, this place could easily be mistaken for his home. It looked the same, it smelled the same, it felt the same. The only thing he could figure that made this place different from his home was its name and the people who lived here. This place certainly had more people than Utherrealm, that was for sure. This place, this Bladefistrealm, and the people here were a sight to behold.

The people! How different they were from his home! He remembered people who were quiet and mild mannered- they had no interest in the business of others. Even the small group he hung out with that he would have called friends hardly ever talked and mostly stayed to themselves. Had it not been for his brother, that strange hunter, he would have left his home many years earlier.

But in this new world, the people always seemed to be greatly concerned with each other and their business. Not infrequently did he find some random person at his shoulder, whispering strange things to him, like, "Can I have five silver for some new armor?" At first he had responded, politely telling people he had no money to give them, but their vicious, curse laden responses made him weary of every responding to those kind of people in the future. He was in a new world now, and he knew he had to quickly learn their customs if he were to survive.

As he continued to trudge his way out from Razor Hill into Durotar under the blazing sun, he thought back to his friends he left behind. He remembered kindly Firechief, who was the leader of his small group of friends back in "Uther," as they called it. Firechief was an enigma, for although he was undead he was one of the most animated and "alive" people he had ever met. He always had a joke to tell and was ready in a moment's notice to help anyone in the group. He had given of himself sacrificially to those around him, and it had made a great impact on this young blood elf.

"Sport," he used to say (he called him Sport simply because "Sporticus" took too much time to say and people were always looking for ways to shorten names), "Remember that true virtue is found in helping those around you." He had recalled those words many times throughout his time on Uther, and those were the words he carried with him to this new world. Firechief surely lived out what he believed, and Sport often recalled the useful items that Fire (as he called him) had helped him acquire in their time together. He thoughtfully reached down and felt the edges of his tabard- a present long ago from Fire. Before he had left home it had been a bright red with a yellow sun in the middle of it. That had been the symbol of his group- The Bandits. The yellow and red combination had always brought a warmth into his heart and made him feel happy. For some reason, though, the tabard only looked a dull grey as it hung over his armor. He had no idea when this happened and wondered how this item could have changed colors so drastically without him noticing it.

His thoughts were cut short as he heard the cries of fighting in the distance. It pulled him out of his absentmindedness and immediately had him at the ready. He was always one who loved a good fight, so he broke out into a run seeking to follow the cries of those at war. The mystery of the tabard would have to wait.

As he ran through the twists and turns of the crags of Durotar, he tried to prepare himself for battle as best as he could. It took him only a moment to recall the blessing for wisdom that he needed as a healer, and he quickly applied it to himself as he ran along. The seal of light, however, was more elusive. He could recall the beginning but forgot how it ended. The seals of wisdom and light sounded so much alike that sometimes the exact wording got criss-crossed. He knew unless he got it right it would not work for him, so he applied what was left of his mental exertion into remembering the proper wording. He hoped he would not have to stop to consult his spellbook to find the right words- that would be too much of a time loss.

Just as he was sure he had the wording down, he was thrown to the ground by a rather large object slamming into his shoulder. It took him a moment to recover from being dazed by such a large hit. As he glanced around from his position on the ground, he saw what appeared to be a rather boxy figure lying on its back near him. In a moment he knew it- it was a dwarf. His lips moved into a snarl as he recognized the form of this hated member of what was called the "Alliance" splayed out on the ground next to him.

Immediately he began to wonder- dwarves weren't known for their excellent jumping and leaping abilities, so how had this one come slamming into him with such great force? He stood a good two feet taller than his much stouter opponent, so for any dwarf to come crashing into him at shoulder height was a miracle to be witnessed. He would shortly become aware of his answer.

As he rushed to his feet, Sport saw the originator of the war cries that he came to help. A few feet from him in an passage in the crags, an orc and a human were in mortal combat. From the looks of it, the warrior was holding his ground well against the human. They matched each other blow for blow and neither seemed to be getting the upper hand. From their armor and weapons they both looked like warriors- and tanks at that. This would be a long fight if the dwarf stayed down.

The dwarf! As he was mesmerized by the fight raging in front of him, he had completely forgotten about his projectile assailant. As he turned around, he saw the dwarf fumbling to his feet. It was hard for ones so short and stocky to get up after being knocked down- but knocking them over was no small task itself. From the mail it was wearing he deduced it was a hunter, but he could find no sign of its pet anywhere.

As the dwarf grumbled in some foreign tongue as it staggered to its feet, Sport quickly rushed into action. He threw his hammer of justice at the dwarf and immediately saw him fall on his butt, stunned. He had gained a few precious moments to help those in need, unhindered. That takes care of that, he thought, and he quickly rushed over to aid in the warrior's duel.

As he ran to the orc warrior he quickly called upon the Light to bless the orc with might. He then threw a large heal on the orc, mending his wounds and restoring him to near full vigor. The orc roared with laughter.

"About time someone showed up!" he grunted. He slammed his shield into the human, knocking him over. He turned to the blood elf and said, "Hurry up and help me finish these two Alliance dirt bags off."

"I already threw a stun on that dwarf, so let's get rid of this human," Sport replied. The orc nodded and brought his axe down on the human, rending his body armor loose. The blood elf brought the power of the Light down upon their opponent with fierce force in judgment. The orc added a quick strike to the head and a thunder clap, and with that the human was dead.

Finally coming out of his stunned state, the dwarf rushed backed to the fight. Seeing his friend dead and knowing he too would soon be fertilizing the fields of Durotar, he turned and fled as quickly as his little stubby legs would carry him. Sport and the orc could not help but laugh as they saw their assailant turn tail and run away. They would not have to worry about their human opponent either, as it was doubtful he would try to resurrect and assail them now that his two to one advantage had turned against him.

"I never get tired of killing Alliance," the orc said. "They are a waste of space as far as I'm concerned. Nothing but a bunch of cowards and little boys in men's armor."

"Too true," Sport replied as he cracked open his water reserve and gulped down a mouthful. He looked in his bags and then over at the orc and said, "I've got some food in here if you're hungry."

"Nah, I'm feeling good," was the orc's response. As Sport took the time to actually look at him, he noticed that, unlike many orcs, this one was bald. And it wasn't a "ring of hair around the head" bald- it was a _bald_ bald. No hair whatsoever. He could even see the sun glistening off the sweat on his head. Gross, Sport thought to himself.

The orc seemed oblivious to the blood elf's visual assessment. "I'm on my way to Org (or "Orgrimmar" as it was more commonly known) if you'd like to come along. Could use a healer like you along the way." Sport couldn't help but notice there was something strange in the orc's voice. It was an accent he had never heard before and it gave the orc's words a funny drawl. It was almost like he was speaking in slow motion.

Shaking off this thought, Sport nodded in agreement and they two began to make their way back to the road that led to Orgrimmar. It would not be a tough journey, barring any other Alliance who decided to ambush them along the way. Still, a healer and a tank would be more than enough for anyone to handle, and from what Sport could tell the warrior he was now in the company of was no slouch. He seemed to be both unnaturally strong and quick- characteristics that were common in orcs, but not to the degree that this one had. In any event, Sport was glad he had made a friend.

A few moments later Sport let out a sigh and said, "I'm sorry, I've completely forgotten my manners. I'm Sporticus, I'm new here and I come from Utherrealm." He held out his right hand to formally greet his green companion.

The orc gave a glance to the outstretched hand and then looked wryly at his travelling companion. He hefted his axe upon his shoulder and continued on the journey. After a moment he said, "I've been here a while. A long while."

He walked on for a bit more and then said, "I've got a name, but no one around here uses it anymore. They all just call me Bigg. Biggmean."

Sport nodded in acknowledgement, and before long they arrived at Orgrimmar.


	2. The Meeting in Orgrimmar

**2: The Meeting in Orgrimmar**

When Sporticus arrived in Orgrimmar he realized there was much he had to do that day, his first on Bladefistrealm. He had to go talk to the honor armor vendor and buy those new shoulder pauldrons he had been looking for, and he also had to make his way to the auction house and see if there were any cheap mana potions he could pick up. He had used the last few before he left home, and he knew he would need some if here were going to try to find a dungeon raid here in this place.

"Well, I've got a lot to do today and if you don't mind I'll be off about my business," Sport said to Biggmean, his green travelling companion.

The orc simply grunted in acknowledgement and headed towards the bank in the center of town. There were always quite a few people in the bank, and there was never a shortage of people crowding the mailbox near the entrance to the bank. It was strange how these always served as meeting points for people no matter where you went. In the Undercity, Thunder Bluff or Silvermoon they were all the same. The number of people were never as great as they were here in Org, but that was simply due to this city's place as the central hub of the Horde.

With that Sport headed into the auction house to see what "deal of the day" he could find. It took him a while to shove his way past all the people in the building to find a spot where he could peruse the items for sale. As he tried to politely excuse himself past one of the giant tauren taking up space in the auction house, he felt his foot come down on something soft and squishy.

"Ow! Watch where the hell you're going, moron!" the undead barked at him. From its long robes and staff in his hand, he figured it was either a priest or a warlock. Another glance told Sport that this undead was missing an imp pet if it were a warlock, so he figured it was a priest.

"Oh, I'm so sorry! I was trying to make my way to the front and I accidentally stepped on your foot! I am so sorry!" Sport pleaded with the priest.

"Yeah, well if you were smarter you wouldn't have done something so stupid. But I don't have time to deal with noobs, so you just better watch yourself _boy_," the undead replied. The last word was said with such force that Sport could see the laden hatred in this undead's eyes. It flashed about as light dances on the surface of the water at noontime- it was a dreadful sight to behold. It terribly unnerved Sport and he found himself quickly looking at some very interesting rock on the ground, avoiding eye contact of any kind with this anger-filled undead. With great gesture to a pair of orcs standing nearby, the priest left the auction house.

With the awkward moment behind him, Sport decided it would be best to make his way to the auctioneer to get his mind off of things. The scene that had just been caused gave him ample room to walk right up to the front of the auction house- that was one good thing that came from this, Sport thought.

As was his custom, he took a moment to look at all the high end weapons and armor that were for sale here in the auction house. Epics, they were called, and they always seemed to carry a large amount of clout with them. If you had epics, you were someone. Well Sport didn't have epics, but he figured that didn't hold him back from being a great paladin. What he lacked in gear he made up for in skill, and he knew the gear would come in time- provided he was able to find his way into a dungeon raid. It was only a matter of time, he thought.

Looking through these epic items he saw several things he wanted. There was a plate belt that would be very useful to him as a healer. Next, he saw a shield that was far superior to the one he was carrying around now. The ugly yellow triangle that hung on his back sure didn't look like a shield, but it was the best he could find under such limited opportunities back home. He knew how to make do, and certainly that was the best this shield would ever accomplish for him. Finally, he came upon a very powerful breastplate that would greatly improve his healing ability and longevity in combat. He checked the current price.

Three thousand gold? Sport looked into his backpack and got a quick estimation of the amount of money he had- barely two hundred gold. Not nearly enough. He momentarily toyed with the idea of going to the bank and asking for a loan that he could repay later, perhaps over the course of a year. He smiled as he thought of some old orc pouring over a ledger, seeing the various debtors to the Orgrimmar bank, and adding his name to the end with the amount next to it. If only it were that kind of bank, he thought. The bank at Org did nothing of the sort, it was simply a place for people to conveniently store their items when they didn't want to carry them around.

Coming back to his senses, he then asked the auctioneer if there were any mana potions for sale. The auctioneer silently showed him the ones available. He skipped over the smaller potions and went to the bigger, more effective ones. He had found two some generous person had put up for sale at one gold each, and he promptly purchased them both. He carefully, this time, made his way out of the auction house and found the nearest mailbox. Rushing to it, he found in there, addressed to him, the two mana potions he had just purchased. He smiled to himself, put them in his bag and looked around for the horde Officer's Barracks. These housed the honor armor vendor that he would need to visit in order to purchase the new pauldrons he wanted.

But for whatever reason, he could not find the Officer's Barracks. He thought he knew where it was, since there was only one in Org, but he must have gotten confused and disoriented somewhere along the way. He stopped by a guard and asked him where his missing Officer's Barracks was. The guard handed him a small map with the location of the Barracks marked with a red flag on it. Sport thanked the guard and asked him what the best way to get there. The guard said nothing and simply turned his head to look around the city, as if silently watching for any sign of Alliance intruder. Figuring he was barking up the wrong tree, he set out to find the Barracks on his own.

After an hour of fruitless twists and turns down endless back alleys and dead end roads, Sport had nearly despaired of ever finding the Officer's Barracks and his shiny new shoulder plates. He knew it was here _somewhere_, but he simply could not find his way to the darned place. He was fairly despondent (as he was prone to be when things didn't turn out like he wanted) and he drudgingly walked back down the main road to the heart of Org. He found his feet growing heavier with each passing step, due more to emotional fatigue than physical, so he found his way to the edge of the road and plopped down on his back. He let out a large sigh and closed his eyes, trying to remain calm. He was very much alone in this new world, and he was trying to not let it get to him.

"Well, what have we got here," came a deep, gentle voice from the road. Sport opened his eyes to observe a very large tauren looking down upon him. He was only a few feet away, but Sport could tell right away that this tauren was a shaman. The gentleness of his voice coupled the way the wind seemed to gracefully carry his words indicated his connection with the elements. There was no mistake about that. The tauren continued, "You seem rather down on your luck, lying on the side of the road all alone like that."

Sport smiled at the correct assessment of his situation- "Yeah, I'm not doing so well right now. I just arrived here from Utherrealm and I'm trying to find my way around in this new world. It's been quite the ordeal, and I think I've already made more enemies than friends."

The tauren looked at him thoughtfully and moved in closer to him. He slowly guided his large bulk to the ground and sat down to chat with the paladin. "Well," the shaman started, "I don't know whether or not I can help you with making new friends, but I _am_ sure I can help you find your way around here in Org. What are you looking for?"

Sport handed the tauren his map and explained that he was looking for the Officer's Barracks, and was about to tell him what he was going to purchase there when the tauren began again.

"Those Barracks… I don't know what the founders of Org were thinking when they put them way up there on that side of town. Sure you can see them from the entranceway, but it sure is a convoluted path to get there. You're here, by the leatherworking hut," here he pointed to the map, "and you simply have to walk this path," he pointed to the map again, "around by Warchief Thrall's quarters and then you're there in a jiffy. It can be a bit confusing and I'm not doing anything for the next little while, so I'll show you the way." The tauren put out his large hand on the shoulder of the much smaller paladin in greeting. "I'm Straggler, by the way."

Sport shook his head in disbelief at the tauren. "You're a straggler? From what?"

"No, not a straggler," the shaman sighed, "My _name_ is Straggler. It comes from the time, way back when I was a boy…" here he trailed off and paused, lost in his own world. After a moment in thought, his eyebrows raised and he resumed, "Tell you what- everyone in my guild just calls me Hautz, so why don't you just go ahead and call me that."

"Hautz. OK, I think I can do that. Very nice to meet you Hautz, my name is Sporticus," he replied, and with that he stuck out his own right hand in his usual greeting.

The shaman grasped the outstretched hand with both mammoth hands of his own and smiled. "A true pleasure to meet you," he said.

As the two of them walked through Orgrimmar, Sporticus explained to Hautz of how he came to Bladefistrealm from Utherrealm. He told him of his past on "Uther" and the wonderful things he had accomplished there. He spoke of his various fights against the monsters of the dungeons in Outland and his grueling process of obtaining the key for entrance to the dungeon raid called "Karazhan." He told him of his frustration with the constant influx and outflow of people through his former guild, The Bandits on Uther, and his eventual choice to leave his home in search for a better place elsewhere. His brother, sadly, had stayed behind and he was off on his own for the first time in his life.

Sport finally got around to talking about his trip to "Bladefist" and the expensive cost of making such a monumental journey. He spoke of his unusual first meeting with the orc called Biggmean and the battle they had fought and won against the Alliance. Hautz smiled at this part of the story but said nothing, simply nodding and offering the occasional grunt to indicate he was still listening. In time they reached the Officer's Barracks, and Sport was elated beyond words.

"Sweet! I can finally buy those epic shoulders I have been saving up so long for. I can really use the spell power on them- they are way better than these garbage ones I have on now. Heh, I don't even remember where I got these from," he said joyfully.

"Well I am glad I could help you out," Hautz replied, "and I was most entertained by your numerous stories that you told along the way."

Sport smiled. He liked talking and his more than willing listener had given him the opportunity to share all the things that were on his mind. It was good to talk about them with someone, even if he didn't know them very well. He merely offered a simple "Thanks" in response.

As Sporticus headed into the barracks, Hautz turned to leave. He had a meeting to attend and he didn't want to be late. However, he had a glimmer of a thought about this paladin, so he called after him. Hearing his name, Sport stopped in his tracks and turned around to face the shaman who beckoned him.

"Say there Sporticus, I was thinking. Now I know you're new to Bladefist and still trying to find your way around, but I get the idea that you might be interested in joining my guild." The tauren pointed at Sport, "The, uh, bland color on your tabard indicates that you currently have no affiliation."

Having finally solved the mystery of his tabard (in fact, it was solved for him) Sport figured it would be good to find a group of people to hang out with, even just to make a few new friends. He was looking for a raiding guild though, so he asked Hautz what his guild was all about.

"Well, we are trying to raid in the dungeons that require the most people, but we still are a few men short. Right now we are still looking for people, and the quality of gear is a non-issue at this point. You'd probably fit right in," Hautz explained.

That was music to Sport's ears. He had wanted a serious raiding guild since he first got a taste of raiding back on Uther, and it seems that the perfect opportunity had fallen right into his lap. He thanked Hautz and told him that he would be very much interested in his guild.

Hautz grinned in approval and started, "We have a guild meeting in that green hut over there in about five minutes if you can make it. I'm sure our guild leader and some of the officers would like to talk to you before we invite you in to join us. But as far as I am concerned, I think you'll be a good fit for us." And with that, he crossed his arm over his chest, placing his fist on his shoulder and said, "Lok'tar ogar! I hope to see you there."

Sport mimicked his gesture and replied, "Lok'tar Hautz! I will be there." And with that he ran off into the barracks, glad he would not only be obtaining his new honor pauldrons but also that he would have the opportunity to show them off later at a guild meeting.

The sight of someone so happy made Hautz chuckle, and he turned to go to the meeting of his comrades. His long blue robe trailed behind him as he made his way from the Officer's Barracks to the green hut he had pointed out to the paladin. He could tell by the way the wind was blowing through Orgrimmar today that rain would follow by nightfall. He was thankful, as today had been an especially hot one and the rain was much needed.

An unusual momentary gust in the wind told him he was not alone. A stealthed rogue snuck up by his side and whispered something into his ear. The female troll's voice seemed giddier than usual and was asking him about the paladin he had just conversed with.

"I found him on the side of the road, actually. Just lying there all alone- it was kinda weird," Hautz whispered back to his hidden companion. "Apart from how odd he acts at times, he seems like a decent guy and I think he might be a good find. You never know with those realm transfers- sometimes they are more trouble than they're worth. Still, I get the feeling that he's just what we've been looking for, and maybe more."


	3. Friendly Faces in New Places

**3: Friendly faces in New places**

Sporticus darted into the Officer's Barracks as fast as he could, intent on buying his new shoulder plate armor as quickly as he could in order to make it to the guild meeting he had just been invited to on time. The shaman Straggler, or Hautz as he preferred to be called, seemed optimistic of his possibilities of raiding with his guild, so he did not want to be late and set a bad impression of himself.

After finding the armor vendor, Sport quickly mentioned which item he wanted. When the vendor produced the item, he dug around in his backpack for what he needed to make the purchase. These "honor points" and "marks of honor" he needed were items won in various battles against the Alliance that he had fought. The marks were easy enough to find. He only had to spend a few, and though they were small and blocky they stood out among his other items. The honor points, however, were harder to find. They were small, like large chunks of sand, and always seemed to find their way to the bottom of his bags. He had to remove several of his other items in order to fish them out, and when he had turned over the correct amount to the vendor he was given his pauldrons. He rushed out of the barracks, thrilled he had finally gotten such a huge upgrade in his armor. He put them on with great pride and felt his intellect and stamina grow as a result. Even though they were a dark grey and bore the distinct "Gladiator's" title, he was still glad that he had earned his first epic.

He scanned the houses all around for the "green hut" that Hautz had pointed out. To his dismay he saw two green huts, both of them side by side, and he could not remember which one was the correct one. He would have to figure out by trial and error.

Cautiously he approached the first hut and went inside. He heard the sound of people talking, but he could only make out one male and one female voice. When he found them, he discovered that they were two younger trolls, locked in a passionate embrace. How their faces managed to touch in spite of their tusks was beyond him, and he stared at them in shock.

As the amorous couple became aware that they had been found, the female troll yelled out in fear and tried to cover herself with a rug that hung on the wall nearby. The male troll, angry that he had been disturbed, began to yell at the blood elf in his native language. Sport could not make heads nor tails of what he was saying, but he could tell that this troll was clearly upset. As he began to flee the scene, his foot caught a table and he started to fall. He managed to catch himself with his hands, mentally noting that his new shoulder armor gave him increased range of movement. On all fours and embarrassed, Sporticus crawled out of the green hut quickly and composed himself. Thankfully the trolls had not followed him and no one else had seen his blunder.

Sure now that he had found the correct place for the meeting and sure that it could not go any worse than his previous encounter, Sport strode proudly into the "correct" green hut. After being greeted at the door by a very friendly female tauren, he found his way into the hut to the place where Hautz's guild was meeting. There were several people there, but at a quick glance he could tell there were no more than twenty in the room.

As he looked over the room, he could tell there was a distinct lack of blood elves in this guild. He saw only a few of his race, and was slightly saddened that there weren't more who could speak his native tongue, Thalassian. Still, he though some was better than none, and made it a point to note those who shared his heritage.

At the very front of the room, facing the rest of the guild, he noticed three very unique figures. He figured these were the leaders of the guild, and time would bear out the truth of his estimation. At the center stood a female troll- tall and noble. She held herself as though she knew the magnitude of her position in leadership and reflected it outward in her demeanor accordingly. Still, she had a look of kindness in her eyes that could not be missed, and she seemed to be very friendly to all in attendance. From her daggers at each hip Sport knew this troll was a rogue, and he thought it very odd for a rogue to be so kind and gentle in their mannerisms.

To her right stood the female tauren who had greeted him so warmly at the door. She was far taller than her rogue companion but lacked none of the gentleness found in her stealthy friend. She was talking very intently with the few people sitting directly in front of her, and while she seemed stressed by the conversation Sport never once heard her yell. She handled those she was talking with both with firmness and kindness, and the blood elf could tell she had the respect of the entire guild.

On the opposite side stood another blood elf like Sport, but unlike the other two at the front he stood aloof. His arms were crossed and he was looking around, obviously trying to avoid any eye contact or communication with those in the room. It was not unusual for blood elves to be so distant from those around them, but his actions were in stark contrast to the other two he saw leading the group. He wondered how someone so unsociable managed to become a leader in any guild, but the answer to his wondering would be provided shortly.

As Sport looked for a place to sit down, he noticed his recent acquaintance Hautz seated at the front of the room. He dared not try to make his way up so far, so he simply made eye contact with his newfound friend and waved. Hautz immediately smiled and waved back, pointing at his shoulders and giving Sport the "thumbs up" sign. Sporticus glanced at his own new epic shoulders and beamed with pride, giving the thumbs up sign back to Hautz. He saw the shaman turn and make a comment to a pair of trolls sitting near him, one a rogue and the other a hunter. They both glanced at Sport and he waved at them, trying to be friendly. The rogue gave a half smile but the hunter rolled his eyes and turned away from him. So far, so good, Sport thought to himself.

As he continued to look over the crowd, he spotted a very bald orc leaning against the wall. As he got closer to inspect he noticed it was none other than his travelling companion, Biggmean! In excitement he ran over and to greet his "old friend" warmly.

"Hey Bigg! I didn't know you would be here! It's great to see ya! Are you a part of this guild?" Sport asked enthusiastically.

Biggmean turned his head to glance at this strange person who had so exuberantly greeted him, and when he recognized him he gave a grunt of approval. "I've been in this guild for a little while," he said, "but so far I've not been able to do very much. It seems pretty hard to get involved in their raids. They have their own little groups and they don't like to bring in new people."

"Hmm, I see," Sport replied. "That does make it difficult to get anywhere. But surely they've seen what you can do and want to use you!"

"Ha. You'd think so, wouldn't you. Well, the only problem with that is there is an officer, another orc warrior, who doesn't like other warriors. He likes keeping the number one spot for himself and he doesn't want to share it with anyone else."

Sport was astounded. "Who would be so short sighted that they thought they wouldn't give anyone a chance? That makes no sense!"

Biggmean pointed to the front row to a rather chubby young orc. "That's the guy. He's been around here a long while. Thinks he runs the place. Tyragon."

Sport nodded. He could see this young orc, and he was surprised because he had never seen an orc so apparently out of shape. His armor seemed too small for him, and Sport could see a roll of fat hanging out from below his breastplate. As he watched him he noticed that Tyragon apparently had trouble breathing. Every few seconds he would take in a large breath and let it out in a very noisy fashion. It sounded like a small tornado. It made Sport smile to see such an odd little orc.

The female troll at the front of the group began to motion to everyone, asking them to quiet down. "If you will all please find a seat and get comfortable, we will start today's meeting." Bigg and Sport found a comfortable spot of floor near the back and sat down. Both were interested in the discussion that would be going on, but Sport was the only one of the two who showed it.

"It is good to see so many of us gathered together here today," the rogue began. "Our guild has done well for itself of late- one of our groups has almost completed its way through the Karazhan raid and a second is not too far behind it."

The plump orc from the front row, Tyragon snorted in approval. The way he stretched himself out and then placed his hands behind his head seemed to let everyone know that he thought himself responsible for the guild's successes. The lady rogue gave him a curt glance and continued.

"We are attempting to make a foray into the larger raids, but as you can plainly see from those gathered here we lack the manpower to even being thinking about these larger raids."

The female tauren at her right hand continued, "We are very glad to have everyone who is a committed part of this guild. We know many are not as dedicated as you all are, and we want you to know that we are trying our best to find people to enable us to raid the larger dungeons. We are opening up recruitment to all interested persons who are at the highest level of experience. Gear and time spent in raids will not be considered as hindrances to joining the guild. We are looking into taking anyone who can show up to raid with us and be consistent in their attendance."

With this, an undead sitting directly in front of her stood up. To his horror, Sporticus recognized him in a moment- he was the very same undead priest he had run into earlier that day in the auction house! He remembered his harsh words and the searing look he gave all too well. Sport cringed inside at the thought of having to work with someone so unusually angry.

The undead started by raising a bony finger in the air and exclaiming, "While Raindyn is right in that we lack the bodies to fill out our raids, we are only hurting ourselves if we bring in undergeared, unskilled idiots into our raids! A step in that direction is a step backwards! We would have to spend countless hours helping that person acquire the key to Karazhan, as well as helping them find and obtain gear that would even let them have a marginal level of effectiveness in that raid! This will not benefit our guild and will only be setting us back in progression!"

Tyragon brought in a large breath. "I agree with Dedarkness. It has taken my raid long enough to get the people and gear necessary to fight Nightbane. Bringing in other raiders that we would have to work with to bring up to that level would not be helpful." With his conclusion he let out one of his large, noisy breaths which seemed to have the effect of providing a conclusion to his sentence.

Hautz, who had been looking for a moment to interject, began, "I understand the desire by Dedark and Tyragon to only bring in the most geared and progressed people, we have to face the facts that there are very few of these type of people simply hanging around, unguilded in our realm. Almost all the good ones are in the larger guilds, and we…"

"That is not the point!" Dedark interrupted. "There are other guilds who are just as progressed as we are that we could openly recruit raiders from to aid us. We should…"

The blood elf in the front of the room cut short the interruption. "We are _not_ going to openly recruit raiders from other guilds Dedark. We are not like that and have never been like that. And don't interrupt people when they are talking. Hautz had the floor and you'll let him finish before you respond. It's only fair."

The undead priest glowered at the blood elf and made no effort to hide his disdain. Thankfully the blood elf took it in stride and gestured to Hautz that he could continue.

"Thank you Vedia," Hautz said. "As I was saying, the well geared people here are already taken by some of the larger guilds and they will have no interest in coming down to raid with us. Openly recruiting from other guilds like us is not an option either. The only thing that does is gives us a bad reputation. Since this guild has been founded we have always been about building from the ground up- bringing in new people and helping them catch up to the rest of us. That is how we got where we are today, and that is how we should continue in the future. Raindyn and Ephan are right; if we want to build a guild that will last, we must always build it from the ground up."

Ephan, the troll rogue at the front, smiled at this. "Well said, Hautz," she replied, "and that is how we are going to get this guild into the larger raids. We will bring in new people and help them acquire the key to Karazhan and any gear they need in order to help them contribute. That is what has been decided, and that is what we will do.

"Now, if there are no other objections to this," here she paused for a moment, and hearing only silence, continued, "we would like to discuss restructuring our Karazhan raids. It has come to my attention that many of our newer people are being left out of raids, even with spots to fill still being open. So, to make better use of some of our newer members, we will be rebuilding our raid groups."

Tyragon was clearly upset by this, and he made sure he made a great deal of noise as he struggled to sit up straight in his seat.

Ephan, giving him a wary look, continued to explain that the current raid groups would be broken up into two new groups of ten, and that two new people would be brought in to each group to round out the total to twelve each. This would give them a full twenty-four raiders, putting them just at the brink of some of the larger raids.

"As we bring in new people they will be assigned to either raid group one or raid group two, and the leaders of those groups will be responsible for rotating raiders in to make sure all have a chance to participate and acquire gear," she explained. "The new raiding groups will be posted on our board here by the end of the week. The leaders will also be responsible for making sure the new people know what times they are to be present in order to raid."

Dedark, clearly upset again by this turn of events, asked, "Who will be these leaders that you speak of? It seems you already have them picked out."

Vedia broke from his reserved stance and took the opportunity to respond to this, "Don't worry, you'll be leading one of the two groups." The undead priest seemed assured by this- he nodded his head in agreement. "Also, I will be a part of your group to make sure you have two leaders to help balance the work load."

Ephan gestured to the chubby orc in the front row. "Tyragon will be leading the second group, and Raindyn and I will provide him any assistance he requires." This looked like it pleased the orc as well, and he folded his hands across his large belly.

Vedia noticed that all parties seemed pleased and took the opportunity to close discussion on the matter- "Any other details will be worked out as we go. If anyone has additional questions, they can speak to me after the meeting has concluded.

"Unless there are other matters that need to be addressed we will conclude this guild meeting and meet up before our next Karazhan raid." He waited for anyone to speak, but everyone seemed to be deep in thought about the ramifications of having the guild's raiding groups jumbled around. "If there is nothing else, you are dismissed."

Dedark was the first one up, and was also the first one to make his way to the back of the hut and the door. He appeared lost in his own thoughts as he walked past Sport and Biggmean, still seated by the back wall. Sport winced when he saw the undead look at him, but the priest was so lost in thought that he did not recognize the paladin as his "grievous" offender from earlier in the day. He left the room without saying a word.

As smaller conversations broke out throughout the room, Sport saw the troll rogue who led the guild make her way to the back of the room. He thought nothing of it till she turned and began walking straight at him. The paladin was nervous- he did not want to make a bad impression on, of _all_ people, the guild leader. He tried to relax, but instead found only sweat on his palms and on his forehead.

"Hi!" she said brightly, "You look like you're new around here and I thought I would come and say hello!"

"Hello, it's very nice to meet you Ephan," Sport replied as he stood up to greet her. "Your guild seems to be very devoted to raiding. It's great to be around other people who are so into it."

"Yes, well, some people are a little _too_ into it if you ask me," she countered. "But that's no reason for me to complain. Some like raiding while some prefer to build a community. I try to balance both of them here in this guild, and I've got to say it is no easy task." With that she stroked her long, dark hair and glanced around. "It's a tough job, but I love it. I wouldn't trade being the guild leader here for anything in the world."

Sport smiled- this troll seemed to be not only friendly but very genuine. "Well, I met one of your guild mates earlier- Hautz was his name. He told me to come to the meeting and see about joining your guild. And I'm going to be honest, from everything I've heard it seems like your guild would be a perfect fit for me."

"Well, tell me a bit about yourself and we'll see if we can use you," the troll responded.

Sport cleared his throat and began telling Ephan about how he had moved to Bladefistrealm from Utherrealm not long ago. He spoke of how he at first was a tank back in his old guild, The Bandits and how he had come to move into the role of healer as his guild needed when they lost one of their best healers. They had not progressed very far through the Karazhan raid- he only had real experience killing some of the animals and their oversized overlords in the basement. His guild had even once managed to fight their way through the dozens of undead horses and their keepers on the ground floor of the castle of Karazhan and had come face to face with the undead horseman Attumen.

The fight against Attumen and his horse, Midnight, had been a valiant one for his guild, and through some strange means they had managed to vanquish both horse and rider. Early in the fight the druid tank had died to Attumen and his powerful melee attacks. In spite of this, his good friend and mentor, Firechief, had managed to not only acquire threat on the horseman after the druid died but also stay alive till the very end of the battle. Sport could easily recall using almost every mana potion in his bag to keep casting heals on Firechief during a fight that seemed to last hours. There had been much celebration that night by The Bandits back in Orgrimmar.

Ephan listened to his stories and seemed pleased. His enthusiasm for his accomplishments and the animated way in which he told her of his victory made her smile. After he was finished, she began, "It certainly looks like you are not lacking in the zeal for raiding, I can tell that much." She gave a glance at his armor and said, "Still, you don't have the best gear around, but at least you have the key to Karazhan. That's something in your favor. I'll have Rain come down here and take a look at you and we'll make a decision."

She called the large female druid over to her and whispered something in her ear, pointing once at Sporticus. Raindyn appeared pleased with what she heard from Ephan for she broke out in a very large grin and whispered something back to her friend. The conversation continued back and forth for several minutes, the whole time keeping what they were saying to themselves. After a while Rain made a gesture to her left and then to her right, indicating all the members in the guild as far as Sport could tell. She then held up one solitary finger, whispered something and Ephan started nodding in agreement. With a conclusion clearly reached, the troll turned and spoke to Sporticus.

"Well, it looks like we could certainly use you in our guild. We only have one other consistent raiding healing paladin, so a second would definitely be a good acquisition on our part. Make sure you talk to him sometime- his name is Ghostface and he knows everything there is to know about healing."

"Thank you so much!" Sport replied excitedly. "I really look forward to raiding with your guild and I hope I can be a good contributor to everything we are going to accomplish at…" and here he trailed off. Sport was not sure if he had ever heard the name of the guild before. He had heard Hautz mention that he was in a guild, but did not recall him ever saying its name. He racked his brain as he tried to remember any guild name at all, but he could not think of anything. He decided to admit his ignorance. "I'm sorry, I don't seem to recall what the name of your guild is," he said sheepishly.

The large female druid put a hand on his shoulder. "It's _our_ guild now blood elf. Don't forget that."

Ephan smiled and pointed at his chest, "Yes, you are one of us now." Sport looked down and saw the grey hue of his tabard begin to grow darker. Slowly he realized that his tabard was changing to a deep maroon, losing its earlier grey. Finally, he saw the image of a face in a twisted grin appear in gold in the center of it. He was now a part of the guild.

"Welcome," Ephan said, "to Facta non Verba."


	4. The Start of Raiding

6

**4: The start of raiding**

It had been several days since the first and, so far, only guild meeting that Sport had attended. He had been surprised at the amount of quarreling that had been present- it seemed like there were as many different opinions as people in the guild! Still, the leaders had handled it all with a balance of kindness and firmness, ensuring that all parties were heard and that no one dominated the conversation. Sport had been very impressed by this and took a good many mental notes about each of the leaders present. He was not sure he could have handled the meeting better than they did, and he made sure the opportunity to learn was not lost on him.

He was very excited to see what raiding group he was in when Ephan posted the new listing for each raiding group. He was more than thrilled to find out that Biggmean was one of the two tanks in his group. Even though he seemed fairly reserved (and quite a bit rough around the edges) he was glad there was someone he considered a friend in his raiding group.

Unfortunately, he also found himself stuck with the one person he was sure he did _not_ want to raid with- Dedarkness. His earlier encounters with the priest led him to the conclusion that he had virtually no tolerance for anything less than perfection and was not shy of letting people know when they had failed to live up to his standards. Very well then, Sport thought, I will just make sure he has no opportunity to upbraid me for my actions even if it is incredibly unrealistic. His mental resolution did not comfort him very much.

Sport stood anxiously outside of the castle of Karazhan, eagerly waiting for the arrival of others to begin the raid. He knew he was early, but he figured it was better to be early than late, especially if his every action would be scrutinized. He rummaged around in his bags to make sure that he had what he needed for that night's raid. He found his mana potions- those were of critical importance no matter what he was doing. He had his spell power boosting elixirs- one for each boss they would do. Finally, he had over two hundred "symbols of kings"- items he purchased that gave him the power to cast unusually long lasting blessings on people. As far as he could tell he was prepared.

He then got out his notes and began reading about each of the fights he would be attempting. He had talked with Ghostface about his role during each of the fights in Karazhan and had gotten general directions on how to do each of them. Mostly his instructions were "heal whoever is tanking the boss" and in some instances it was "assist with healing the raid when thus and so happens." It seemed fairly simple at first, but Ghost had warned him about a few fights that required his utmost attention. Several of the bosses used attacks that he would either have to dodge or move around to avoid, and it seemed like more than one of them were extremely deadly. As a result Sport spent these last few free moments making sure he had all of his proverbial ducks in a row and was more than adequately prepared for the fights ahead.

The first person to show up for the raid was a young orc warrior. Sport saw him coming a long distance away riding on the typical mount for an orc, a wolf. Sport looked over his list and saw that the only other warrior besides Bigg for the raid that evening was one named "Balazil." He apparently was a very strong warrior and wielded two-handed weapons with skill. He had notoriety in the guild for being a good raider despite his young age; Sport was glad he had been assigned a group with so many talented people.

Sporticus saluted his raiding companion as he approached. Balazil rode his wolf up to Sporticus and dismounted, saluting him in response. "You must be the new paladin we're raiding with," Balazil said. "It's nice to meet you- I'm Balazil."

"A pleasure to meet you," Sport replied with a bow. "I'm Sporticus, and it looks like I'll be one of your healers tonight."

The orc began chatting with Sport about various things that had happened recently. He talked about how the big guild on the server, Altered Existence, was now rapidly progressing through some of the more challenging fights in the game and gaining prominence among both Horde and Alliance. Sport listened politely, more concerned with his own guild than the doings of others. Still, he was glad this orc was so talkative and easy to converse with.

"Well, I guess we better start summoning some of the others here," Balazil said after he concluded his discourse on the larger raiding guild. "We'll start with Dedark and Vedia since they are the leaders and then make our way down the list."

Sport hurried over to the summoning stone with Balazil and helped him quickly summon in the ten other people who would be raiding with them that night. After a few minutes they were all assembled at the gates of Karazhan. Sport was thankful to notice he was one of only three healers that night. Since the guild always had three healers in each of the smaller raids he would be in for the entire night and never be sat out.

Dedark did not mince words and quickly sorted out which ten people would be going in first and which two would be assigned to come in as substitutes at certain fights. From what Sport could tell he was bringing in the newer people for the easier fights and saving the more experienced people for the more challenging fights. That's pretty smart, Sport thought to himself. It would help the newer people learn and get gear easier while still making sure that everyone got a chance to raid. It was both logical and fair, and no one objected.

Sport did his best to maintain his joy as the ten of them made their way past the portcullis and into Karazhan. He knew he would be seeing fights he had never seen before and was giddy at the thought of experiencing something new, especially with such talented people. He also did not overlook the fact that he was the only paladin healer and all the plate gear with spell power that dropped would be his and his alone. It was a good feeling, and Sport could contain it no longer.

"Man, I am so excited to be in here! This is gonna be great!" he whispered to Biggmean.

"These first few fights are pretty easy and should go quick," Bigg responded. "Just make sure you do your job and we'll be to the harder fights in no time."

"You think we'll make it to the Curator?" Sport asked, loud enough for others to hear.

Balazil heard only the tail end of what he said and took it upon himself to respond to it. "What?" he interjected, making it clear he missed most of what was said.

"Oh, I was just asking big if we will make it to the Curator," Sport replied.

"The Curator? Yeah, we'll kill him. I've killed him quite a few times myself. If you get lucky he might drop some sweet tier gloves for you," the young orc said.

The next few hours were a blur to Sport. His group quickly dispatched Attumen and his steed, Midnight. It seemed almost effortless for them. Their coordinated attack on the undead steward of the castle, Moroes, amazed Sport and he watched the undead crumble under the fierce onslaught of his guild. Finally, they demolished the Big Bad Wolf as he chased various members of the raid around the room. Sport was thankful he had not been chosen as a target to be chased.

Finally, as Balazil said, they stood face to face with the robotic monstrosity known as the Curator. He patrolled the Menagerie with the precision only a robot could; he stalked the halls in such a way that no one could sneak past him to reach the upper levels of Karazhan. Not that his guild wanted to, of course. They had killed him multiple times already, and they knew how to deal with his tricks.

Dedark gave the orders quickly. "Alright, all casters watch out for the Astral Flares he summons. I want you to focus on killing them as soon as they show up. If I find any of those floating around for longer than a few seconds I will replace all the casters immediately. Remember to hit him hard while he is recharging his batteries after the tenth Flare. Whenever you're ready lead us in to battle Bigg."

Bigg let out a rage filled roar and charged at the giant robot. His first swing caught the robot's right leg, and it swung around to face him.

"The menagerie is for guests only," it said in a monotone voice, and immediately proceeded to swing at Bigg with its metallic fists. Though he blocked many of the hits Bigg still took considerable damage from the robot. Sport sprung into action, casting heals as best he knew how and ensuring Bigg would not fall during the ordeal.

From the corner of his eye he caught an Astral Flare approaching him, and he backed closer to one of the hallway's walls to avoid it. Dedark noticed this and began upbraiding the raiders.

"Who the hell is letting that Flare run free? It should have been dead long ago! Somebody isn't pulling their weight! Wafle, go over there and get that Flare off of Sport now!"

Waflecopter, the group's hunter, responded by firing a volley of arrows at the Flare, stopping it in its tracks and causing it to crumble into a pile of dust. Sport gave him a quick nod in thanks.

The rest of the fight went off without a hitch, the raid group responding exceptionally well to the short window they had to do extra damage to the boss while he recharged his batteries. The Curator began to jerk sporadically as the final barrage of spells, arrows and melee attacks rendered it inoperable. The machine sputtered as it was falling to the ground and it landed with a loud clang.

Dedark immediately launched into a tirade, demeaning his raiders for the "colossal" mistake of letting a Flare almost reach a healer as well as their slowness of their kill. He said that with the group composition they had they should have done the fight in far less time then it took and told them that he wouldn't stand for such failure again. He even found a reason to gripe at Sport, criticizing his healing of Biggmean. He had let the tank get "too close" to dying, and Dedark said, although not _to_ Sport but clearly directed _at_ him, that he wished he had a _real_ paladin healer in his group.

Sport lowered his head and sighed in response. Thankfully, Vedia, the healing priest who was in the group, came over to him and whispered to Sport in Thalassian, "Don't let him get you down. I know you're new and you did fine. No one died and that's the main thing. You'll get better as you get more gear and practice. Don't take what he says so hard."

"Thanks, I'll keep that in mind," Sport responded, using the blood elves' native tongue. They were the only two in the group and thus were the only ones who could have understood their conversation, but even still they kept their voices low. Better to not arouse suspicion, he thought.

Unfortunately for Sport, the Curator did not drop the paladin tier gloves. He was glad, however, for Biggmean. The warrior gloves had dropped and Vedia awarded them to Bigg over Balazil, as tanking was by far more important to the raid. Bigg put them on without a word, but Sport thought he could see a glimmer of pride in the orc's eyes as he equipped his new piece of armor.

With the Curator out of the way, the group made its way through the library of Karahzan. They killed the strange demon Terestrian Illhoof without incident, and Sport was pleased when he saw that the monster yielded a very nice staff for their hunter, Wafle. He seemed very pleased with his new acquisition.

"Oh yeah!" Wafle yelled. "I'm too pro now! Check me out!" Here he flexed for the group, clearly showing off. "I'm getting so much good gear it should be illegal for me to raid with you guys!" He spun around, swinging his new staff and taking down imaginary opponents. "Too pro!"

Sport saw Vedia roll his eyes at this and he couldn't help but break out in a grin. It always made him chuckle to see people so happy in getting new equipment. They always looked so elated to be getting something they wanted so badly. In any case, no one else seemed to care as much as Wafle did, and before long they were outside the door to the boss that everyone called "Shade."

Sport looked at his notes and saw that this boss was the Shade of Aran, the ghost of the dead father of Medivh, the man who owned the castle of Karazhan. He read that he would have to be especially careful in the upcoming fight. Everything spell the Shade cast was random, and he would have to pay attention even more than usual. He hated to think of the verbal beating that would be laid down on him if he messed up during this fight.  
As usual, Dedark gave a quick rundown of the fight before they entered the room. "Don't stand in blizzards, don't move during flame wreath and run out after the big pull-in. We do that, there should be no problems at all. Any questions?"

Sport had a question, but he was too intimidated to ask it. He thought he would simply figure it out during the course of the fight. It wasn't even a big deal- he was sure he could identify what this "flame wreath" looked like when he saw it. What's the worst that could happen, Sport thought to himself as he prepared to charge into the room.

After the long fight was over Vedia resurrected Sporticus, the only person to die during the course of the fight. Dedark was instantly in his face, yelling at him.

"Didn't I tell you not to move during flame wreath? What kind of moron are you that you can't even understand such a simple command? Was it too complicated for you? Did the giant rings of fire not clue you in to the fact you were in the middle of a wreath of fire?"

"I've never fought this boss before!" Sport explained. "I had no idea what anything looks like and I have never seen that 'flame wreath' ability used by anyone, ever. I think I learned my lesson, and we _did_ kill him."

"Whatever," the undead priest replied grimly. "As least I'm not the one who is failing."

When Vedia checked the Shade to see what loot they had acquired, he shot a glance up at Sport and motioned him over. Sport quickly ran to Vedia and was handed a pair of shoulder plate armor.

"Put these on," Vedia told him. "They are way better than your welfare epics that you're wearing now."

Sport looked at his current pauldrons. He had come to really like how they looked on him in the time that he had owned them and he was sad that he had to replace them. The gains in intellect and spell power alone were enough to warrant replacing them, and these had tons of other benefits aside from that. Putting them on, Sport noticed how ugly these new shoulder guards were. They looked like two pie tins stuck on his shoulders. They were also incredibly uncomfortable. The pauldrons he had just removed gave him a good range of motion and had not inhibited him in any way. These new ones felt like they were shackling his shoulders down, limiting his reach. Still, he could not argue with the immense bonuses they gave him as a healer.

"Thanks," was all he could say to Vedia as he sadly stored his old equipment in his bag.

From there the raid took a brief break while they waited for the substitutions to make their way in and catch up to their location. Those being replaced simply used their hearthstone and were out in an instant. Sport used the time to chat with Balazil about the upcoming fights.

"Hey Balazil, what do I need to be mindful of for the Prince Malchezaar fight?"

The orc looked at him quizzically and asked, "What?"

Sport repeated his question, slower this time to make sure the warrior heard it.

"Oh, the Prince fight," Balazil said. "Well, we've found a place where all the healers, casters and hunters can stand so that they won't have to move or worry about anything. It's fairly simple now- you shouldn't have any problems at all."

Sport gave a great sigh of relief. He was glad for an easy strategy. All the learning required for these new fights had tested his ability to learn and act quickly to their breaking point.

Just like Balazil had said, the Prince Malchezaar fight was indeed simple in strategy. What had been left out was the incredible amount of damage the tank took the entire fight and Sport had to use multiple potions to avoid running out of mana during the long fight. From his vantage point by the door to this balcony, Sport saw what the challenge to this fight was- the legion of towering infernal demons that crashed into the balcony and spewed out fire at all those around them. He was more than glad that he did not have to deal with them during a fight that was already so much of a strain on him as a healer.

After they had succeeded in bringing the demon lord down, Sporticus was ecstatic to find out the boss had dropped the paladin tier helmet. He joyfully ran over to Vedia and saw the glistening item in the priest's hands.

"Congrats, this is a very nice item," Vedia said as he handed the helmet to Sport. Biggmean gave him a cheer as he put the helmet on for the first time, and Sport could feel his intellect and stamina increase with this new piece of armor. Unable to control his emotions, he jumped up and gave a shout to show off his excitement over his new armor piece.

"Pshh, figures," he heard a voice say behind him. He knew who it was, and he didn't care. He was glad he had gained such a large upgrade over what he had been wearing previously. With the new boots he had gotten earlier in the evening, that was a total of three new pieces of armor that he had acquired. He was well on his way to becoming prepared to contribute to the larger raids that the guild wanted to attempt, and he was more proud of that than anything else.

Having completed all of their goals for the night, the raid group disbanded with the expectation they would finish the final fight they had left tomorrow. With a wave to his friends Biggmean and Balazil, Sport used his hearthstone and left his first truly successful venture into the castle of Karazhan.

He had trouble falling asleep that night. So many things had happened during the day that his mind was still racing through them all. Such new experiences left him restless, and he ventured out of his bunk at the inn at Shattrath City to get some fresh air and stretch his tired limbs.

He looked out over the sleeping city and was surprised to see people still bustling about their business. It was after midnight- time for sleep by Sport's standards. He wondered what sort of strange quests these people were on at such an hour; many still bustled in and out of the city to the surrounding courtside as the night slowly marched on.

Sport would not have time to wonder long. The rogue who had been watching him from the shadows of the great Scryer tower readied itself to strike its unaware target.


	5. The Night Rogue

3

**5: The Night Rogue**

Sport stared over Shattrath, amazed at the people still busy about their tasks in the city below. He was completely stunned by the sight of so many, both Horde and Alliance, up late at night and busy about their various tasks. The city itself was majestic enough, but to see it teeming with life that danced about in the lights of the city completely captivated him.

His muscles were still sore from the large amount of work that he had done that day. His trek through Karazhan had been more of a challenge to his body than he ever would have imagined, and it seemed like every part of him ached. His shoulders and neck were quite sore from the beating he had taken on some of the fights, especially the encounter with the Shade of Aran. Magical blows hurt just as much as any physical ones, and his body readily bore witness to this. Both legs were sore from standing and running the whole day, and his feet were only slightly better off. Even his arms were tired from casting heals. He felt like he had been beaten up all over. Despite that, the run had been a success and he was happy.

The rogue who had been watching him from the shadows kept its eyes locked on its target. It valued its ability to move undetected and so was able to stalk this paladin for a good long time. Sport never noticed that he had been followed and watched, his actions and mannerisms carefully scrutinized by his unseen follower. Having seen all it needed to that its target was well chosen, the rogue closed in on Sporticus to make its initial strike.

He felt something graze over his shoulders and in shock Sport spun around. He saw no one, but could tell he was not alone. Glancing around him he knew he had company, but could not identify an assailant anywhere. He turned back to look over the city and came face to face with his previously unseen stalker.

"I hear you did well at the raid today," the troll said, tossing her long black hair behind her with a flick of her hand. It was Ephan, the guild leader of Facta.

"Well, I thought I did alright, but apparently everyone did not share the same sentiment," Sport replied. He thought back to Dedarkness and his harsh comments during the raid over mistakes that Sport had made. He rolled his eyes; he had no idea that someone could blow up over such trivial matters.

"Vedia thought you did very well. He told me so himself. He thinks you show enough promise that we should keep you around for a while."

"I'm glad someone thought I did alright," Sport replied. "I tried my best and I figured that was all I could do. Most of those fights were new to me and I adapted to them as best as I could."

Ephan began walking away from him toward the edge of the Scryer's tier overlooking Shattrath. As she walked further from him he noticed she was not wearing most of her typical leather armor. She was not wearing her shoulder armor and it looked like she was not wearing a breastplate or helmet either. It caused her to look much smaller and more feminine, showing off the distinctive features of a troll woman.

Sport cocked his head at an angle as he watched her walk away from him, curious as to what was going on. If she had an interest in talking with him, why was she walking away? And why was she not wearing all her armor? It all left him very confused and he stood still, dumbfounded.

When Ephan turned to glance at him over her shoulder, Sport saw a new look on her face. It was not one of a stern guild leader, but rather one of a confident woman with a hint of longing. He had never seen this look before in a woman and it surprised him. Slowly Sport surmised that she wanted him to come join her at the edge of the platform. He walked over and stood next to her, unsure of what to do next.

Ephan gazed out over the city and drew in a breath. "It's so beautiful at night- far prettier than Orgrimmar or Thunder Bluff. Those are far too ugly and drab for my tastes. I need a city with some spark to it- it makes life worthwhile. Wouldn't you agree?"

"I guess so. I mean, it's nice to look at," Sport responded. "I guess I have more on my mind than whether or not my surroundings are pretty. But I guess it's nice if you're into that sort of thing."

Ephan smiled at him and Sport could tell it was not an ordinary smile. In it he saw a look of admiration mixed with a hint of desire. He stood still, unable to formulate any sort of response to what was happening. He simply stared back at Ephan, incapacitated. It was not the first time he had been stunned by a rogue, but this was definitely a new method he had never witnessed before. The female troll took his silence and continued stare as an indication that things were tipping in her favor, and she reached out her hand to grab Sport's.

The touch communicated far more than the gaze did. Sport could tell from the feel of her hand that this woman was not simply interested in him- she was attracted to him. She was looking for a companion and had decided to make a move on this new paladin. Her job as guild leader had garnered the respect of many, but unfortunately it had kept them all at a distance. She could find no one that she knew that thought of her as anything beyond her role as a leader, and it had made her despondent of ever finding companionship. She reached out to this blood elf because she saw in him the qualities she desired and had decided to act before any sort of formality-created distance cropped up between them.

The troll's hand felt strange to his. His whole life he had only known the touch of other blood elves, and this new sensation was a shock. Her skin felt rougher than his did, even though she was a female. He figured this had come about due to her choice to train in the ways of a rogue, but it still baffled him nonetheless. Also, her fingers were much longer and wider than his were- in fact, her whole hand was far bigger than his was! Her hand encompassed his easily, and this made him feel a little awkward.

Still, he noticed that Ephan was not without her good qualities. She was very pretty, even for a troll, and her long black hair covered her head like a crown. Her body was shapely, as Sport had noticed on many occasions. Thankfully she was short for a troll, making her equal with Sport in height. Had she been a normal troll's height she would have towered over Sport by nearly a foot. Lastly, and perhaps most importantly, Ephan was very kind and patient- the very picture of a person that anyone could get along easily with. She was never harsh and always friendly, and these were things that Sport highly valued.

Slowly Sport came to the conclusion that he was going to give this, whatever it was, a shot. His mind raced through calculating the pluses and minuses- it had come out on the other side with his decision that if she were interested then he would be too. The upside was greater than any downside he could conceive of, and with that conclusion he gave a squeeze to Ephan's hand. He pulled her in close and wrapped his arm around her. She sighed with pleasure and rested her head over his shoulder.

Sport's thoughts immediately jumped to the practical matters relating to what had just happened and blurted out, "What are we going to tell the guild?"

"Let me take care of that," Ephan replied. "I'll give it some time in order to think of how the best way for me to share this everyone. I know Raindyn will be excited for us, but I don't know how many of the others will take it. But don't worry, I will make an announcement before any rumors or ideas start circling around the guild."

"Cool. That sounds like a good idea," Sport said. He was glad he would not have to deal with the particulars, and he figured it would be better to come from the leader of the guild than from himself.

"I thought so too." Here, Ephan shifted so that she could look at Sport in the eyes. "You know I made this decision very carefully. When looking for someone I made sure I picked a man who was upstanding and good natured. It took me a while to find someone like you and I am very serious in choosing you."

Sport pondered her words for a moment before he responded. For his own part he had made no such careful decision- he had simply responded to what was presented to him. Still, he figured that the Light which had always guided him had a plan for this relationship presented before him, and thus he had no qualms with it.

"I totally understand, Ephan," he began as he looked back into the eyes of the troll rogue. "As long as we take things slow and don't rush anything, I am sure that everything will work out fine. Don't worry about anything."

Ephan seemed pleased with this answer and returned to her earlier position. She thoughtfully stroked Sport's hand and resumed her observation of the city.

Several hours passed, filled with gentle conversation and tender moments of affection. The new couple shared their thoughts about a variety of topics ranging from their past histories to the recent occurrences in the guild. They were oblivious to the march of time and soon the sun began to peak over the horizon. Dawn had come, and with that a bright new day dawned.

Noticing the obvious indication of how much time had passed, Ephan gave one last embrace to Sport as she left to return to her own dwelling back in Orgrimmar. Sport grinned as he watched her leave, and waved to her as she left the Scryer platform.

He slowly trudged back to his own bed at the inn as the lost hours of sleep began to weigh upon him. He was tired but happy, and as he tossed himself onto his bed he was glad that such a wonderful thing had happened to him. It had come out of nowhere and took him by surprise. He could not being to imagine a better thing falling into his lap. While the troll-blood elf differences made him pause at times, he was more than happy to have found someone who cared about him so much and held him in such high esteem. Any doubts he had he brushed from his mind as he slowly drifted off to sleep.


End file.
